Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
The sun hung low, casting gold and crimson across the Ascension Grounds as Theron stood at the podium, fielding questions from the gathered guilds like a seasoned performer.
His voice rolled out as smooth as silk, but every word was calculated—controlled.
The bastard was using Zander’s promotion as a salve, a rallying point. And they were eating it up.
“How long has the sanctuary existed?”
“Why now?”
“Are the dragons aligned with this plan?”
“Is it true only certain riders can enter?”
The questions came rapid-fire, mostly from Stormforge and Warborn, though even a few from Crownwatch were laced with genuine curiosity. The tension that had been unraveling the guilds seemed paused—held together by the gravity of a shared enemy and a single, unifying mission.
“He’s smarter than he looks,” Teren muttered beside me, arms crossed tight over his chest. His eyes were locked on Theron, lips twisted in something between annoyance and reluctant respect.
“With the exception of Iron Fang, everyone else will follow Zander now,” I said, watching Theron nod graciously at a Stormforge captain’s question.
“Iron Fang follows Theron,” Teren agreed, his jaw ticking. “So now he has the Fourth Guild’s unilateral support.”
“It wasn’t just about the Fae Sanctuary,” I said, but the words felt heavy in my chest. It was part of it, yes, but not all.
Teren’s dark eyes shifted to me. “Oh, that’s definitely part of it. But there’s more to this. Always is.”
I smirked. “You’re quick. Most wouldn’t have noticed.”
He arched an eyebrow. “What did the guard give you?”
Damn.
I reached into the side pocket of my flight belt and retrieved the small, folded scrap of parchment the courier had slipped me near the barracks—timed perfectly with the Theron’s theatrics. The seal was wax, but cracked with no emblem. That alone was a message.
I handed it to Teren without a word.
He unfolded it, careful not to draw attention. His eyes scanned the brief note, then narrowed.
“Cryptic, isn’t she?” he said, handing it back.
I nodded. “Yeah. But it says exactly what it needs to.”
The assembly ended with a flourish of Theron’s cape and a wave of his hand. “Eat well and rest, riders,” he declared from the podium, his voice far too smug for someone who’d just pulled the strings of half a kingdom. “Tomorrow, we begin preparations in earnest.”
The moment he stepped down, the crowds began to disperse. No one cheered. No one booed. It was just… resignation. The kind that settled into your bones when you knew you’d just been maneuvered like a piece on someone else’s game board.
We filtered toward the dining hall in squads, banners left behind and boots crunching across the gravel like a funeral march. The tension hung as thick as smoke, but it was quieter now—tired murmurs, shared glances, too many unspoken truths floating just beneath the surface.
Once inside, I grabbed a tray and moved with the others through the line. Stew. Bread. Something that might’ve been root mash if I squinted hard enough. Not that anyone cared what it tasted like. Everyone was too busy watching Zander.
Dozens of riders congratulated him on his “promotion.” Polite smiles. Stiff nods. Some even clapped his shoulder or offered a toast. And Zander accepted it all with practiced grace, like someone who’d been raised in the shadows of thrones and crowns and knew how to play the game.
But I knew him better than that.
You okay? I asked, pushing the thought gently through our bond.
His response was like flint sparking in the dark. Theron is making me his own personal figurehead.
Yeah, I sighed internally. We figured as much. But we have to play along. There may be some advantages.
Maybe. The word dripped with frustration, but it wasn’t angry, not at me. Just tired.
Finally, he sat beside me at one of the long wooden tables as I took a bite of the questionable mash. Around us, muted conversation buzzed like insects, nervous and thin. Even Riven and Naia were uncharacteristically quiet across from us.
I turned to him and smiled.
Solei sent me a message. She’ll be stopping by the barracks later tonight. Says she has information for us.
He didn’t bother hiding the lift in his brows. I’d complain about palace security, but it appears to be working in our favor.
Zander’s eyes darted toward mine, and for a second, his lips twitched. Just barely.
Let’s hope it’s the kind of information that doesn’t get us all killed.
The walk back toward the barracks was quiet, but it wasn’t a peaceful quiet—it was the kind of hush that came after too many truths had been spilled into the open.
Zander walked beside me, the rest of Thrall Squad trailing behind.
The sun had dipped, staining the sky in streaks of lavender and blood-orange.
It cast Kaelith’s scales in an iridescent glow as she curled on the outer grounds near Hein, both watching us like twin sentinels.
As we entered the barracks, they launched into the air.
Teren was the first to break the silence.
“So…” he drawled, tossing a sideways glance at Zander, “should we get you a bunk?”
Zander smirked. “Tempting. But I need to check on Elara tonight. I’ve barely seen her since everything happened.”
He didn’t have to explain further. We all knew what he meant. Theron had little use for his youngest sister—too delicate, too bright-eyed, too kind for the cold court of Warriath.
“She’s lucky to have you,” I murmured.
Zander’s expression faltered, shadows flashing through his eyes. “Theron knows about her heritage, too,” he said quietly. “Of course he does.”
“He doesn’t see her as a threat, though,” Riven said, coming up behind us. “She’s too young. Too sweet.”
“Exactly.” Zander nodded. “He expects her to marry well, form a political bond, maybe produce a few viable riders. That’s all she is to him… potential.”
Ferrula made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “Marriage treaties are barbaric. Doesn’t matter if you’re a commoner or a noble. Everyone ends up a pawn.”
We all nodded, the weight of shared experience thick between us.
“I hated it,” Zander admitted. “But we didn’t have much of a choice. After the last Blood War, there weren’t enough full-blooded fae to marry into the bloodlines. Nobles had to rely on the remaining power carriers to ensure magic stayed strong in the blood. It became… duty.”
I glanced over at him, my voice hushed. “Except your father. He was full fae. But no one knew.”
“No,” Zander agreed, and there was something distant in his tone, like he was seeing all the ways that secret had warped everything. “If they had known about Alahathrial, the entire system might’ve collapsed. Or at the very least, been rewritten.”
“Too late for that now,” Jax said from behind, ever the realist. “We’ve got a prince who wants to be king, a princess no one values, and a clutch of dragons who could burn this whole damn kingdom down if they felt like it.”
“And we’re somehow the ones holding it together,” Tae added with a crooked grin.
Zander glanced at me again, something soft and unreadable in his gaze. “Maybe that’s why we were chosen.”
Chosen. Not just for the dragons. Not just for each other. But for something bigger than any of us could yet name.
Zander hesitated at the door, the flickering torchlight catching on the silver in his dark tunic.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said. “Don’t wait up.”
Riven saluted him mockingly. “Try not to start a revolution without us.”
Zander’s smile was subtle, but real.
“No promises.”
We were sprawled across our bunks, armor peeled off, and the pressure of the day unwinding from our shoulders. The conversation was light—something about dragon droppings and how Ferrula had nearly slipped in one near the eastern trench, when the barracks door creaked open.
Solei slipped in like a whisper of shadow, her hood low until she pulled it back, blond hair tumbling free. Her presence shifted the air, sharpened it, like the hum of a blade just before it sings.
Teren grinned from his bunk, leaning back against his wall with a mock-sigh. “Is it just me, or is Ashlyn’s sister getting sexier every time she breaks into our barracks?”
Solei didn’t miss a beat. Her smile was slow and dangerous, right before she whipped a dagger at his head.
The blade thudded into the wooden post beside him, quivering just a hair from his ear.
Teren chuckled, utterly unfazed. He reached up, plucked the dagger from the wood, and ran a thumb along the edge. “Like I said. Sexy.”
Riven snorted, and Cordelle buried his face in his blanket to smother his laugh.
Solei ignored the theatrics and pulled a tightly bound scroll from the inner pocket of her cloak. “Enough flirting, soldier boy.” Her voice was all business now. She walked past Eilvin’s empty bunk and moved straight to Cordelle’s, holding the scroll out to him.
“My father didn’t recognize the script,” she said. “Which means it’s old. Older than the Unification Treaty. Maybe even before the exile of the Blood Fae.”
Cordelle sat up straighter, suddenly alert, green eyes wide. “Where did you get this?”
“A messenger,” she said, tone vague on purpose. “And before you ask, he is dead now.”
She laid the scroll gently across his blanket like it were something sacred. Cordy looked down at the brittle parchment, already studying the faint, inked markings as his fingers hovered over it without touching.
“I’ll do what I can,” he said quietly. “But if it’s what I think it is… this may take a minute.”
Solei nodded once, her expression unreadable. “Do your thing.”
Cordelle’s eyes scanned the parchment like he was reading something holy. We all leaned in, the quiet of the barracks pressing in around us, even the dragons outside seemed to hold their breath.
His finger finally settled on a curved symbol, etched in fading ink and lined with delicate slashes.
“That,” he said, his voice laced with awe, “is the sigil for the Crown Council. Or… it was. Before the Unification Treaty.”
My stomach tightened. “What does it say?”
He looked up, pupils wide with wonder. “It’s a decree. From one of the former kings—Rayne’s line, maybe even the one who established the accords. It speaks of a desperate appeal made to the Light Fae.”
Jax stiffened slightly across the room, but he didn’t interrupt.
“How does that help us?” I asked, moving closer.
Cordelle carefully flipped the scroll over, and the entire squad leaned in as a second side was revealed—this one a map, faded but clear enough to stir something ancient in my chest.
“This is the Blood Isle,” Cordelle murmured. “Before it was corrupted. Before the war turned it into what it is now. Back when it was still the Fae Isle.”
Teren stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as Cordelle pointed to a section on the southern curve of the island.
“That’s the sanctuary,” Cordelle confirmed.
“Near the ocean. It’s marked as a rehabilitation zone for water-bound mammals, birds, a few species of wild magic creatures too rare to name.
That’s how they survived all this time. Access to open sea…
and a closed land mass protected by old fae wards. ”
“That’s why the Blood Fae haven’t overrun it,” Ferrula whispered, brow furrowed. “It’s shielded by ancient light magic.”
I nodded though my mind was racing. “But how do we get in?”
Cordelle’s finger tapped another rune, this one near the sanctuary perimeter.
“We’ll need to access the ley line beneath the cliffs here. It’s a natural conduit—probably why the sanctuary was built there in the first place. But it can only be opened by those who carry both bloodlines. Light and dark.”
Riven’s gaze slid to mine.
“I guess that’s me and Zander,” I whispered.
Cordelle nodded. “You’re the key. Both of you. The sanctuary isn’t locked with force. It’s locked with balance.”
I folded my arms and stepped a little closer to Solei, who was now leaning against Cordelle’s bunk like she hadn’t just dropped the biggest revelation of the night.
“Where did the messenger get this?” I asked, gesturing to the scroll.
Her eyes flicked to mine, unreadable. Then, for the first time since she’d entered, her tone softened. “I don’t know. He died prematurely when I questioned him.”
“Who sent him?” Jax asked, already moving toward her, jaw tight.
Solei was quiet for a beat too long. Her fingers grazed one of the daggers strapped to her thigh, almost absentmindedly.
“He was delivering it from the castle.”
My stomach dropped. “From the castle?” I repeated. “Who would do this?”
She exhaled slowly through her nose. “I don’t know. I intercepted him after he exited through the east gates. He was fast. Trained. And he was carrying that,” she motioned to the scroll now spread across Cordelle’s bunk.
“Where was he headed?” Teren asked.
“Toward the outer edge of the city,” she answered, her voice tight. “The direction of the Hollows. He had an emblem tucked into his cloak. It was part of the old Ember Dawn insignia.”
Riven frowned. “Ember Dawn? But didn’t that house dissolve?”
“No,” Tae muttered. “It was absorbed into Crownwatch years ago.”
I looked back at Solei. “You’re saying someone inside the castle was sending this—” I gestured to the scroll, “—to someone outside the city?”
She nodded once. “He was inside the castle today. He left just after Theron’s speech.”
I clenched my jaw, a ripple of unease crawling down my spine. “So, while Theron was declaring Zander unfit for the throne, someone in his castle was trying to send a pre-war map of the Blood Isle to gods-know-who?”
Solei’s gaze met mine. “Someone who knew exactly what they were looking for. And they wanted it before we got there.”
The room went deathly silent.
Tae’s voice was hushed. “Which means they know what’s waiting on the island.”
Riven stepped closer, her expression unreadable. “And they don’t want us to find it first.”